Page 47 of The Witch of Threadneedle Street

With black looks on their faces, they grabbed the tools and vanished inside.

For the first hour, they glanced out the door a dozen times or more. Each time, their faces fell further upon discovering him still there, lounging quite comfortably against the wall. After a time, Doughall relieved him. Then, Sean the Iron Fist took his place. After that, ‘twas Taran’s turn once again.

The hours passed.

Realizing there was no escape, George and Francis finally set about their task in earnest. ‘Twas then the fun for the men began. They took to wagering how fast the lads could carry the buckets of dung, slipping on the cobblestones on their way to the kitchen herb beds.

Finally, when they were done, Taran strode to the aviary for an inspection.

“Aye, ‘tis done,” he said, pleased with the result. He turned to the lads, covered in muck from head to toe. “Off with ye now, ‘tis time to wash.” He shot them both a stern look, then added. “From this day on, ye’ll rise at dawn to train with the men.”

They exchanged a look between them, a combination of resentment and Taran knew not what else, and then followed the clansmen into the gathering gloom to wash away the grime.

Taran closed his eyes and stretched. Only a dull twinge of pain shot through his shoulder to quickly fade away. ‘Twas astonishing how fast he was healing. He flexed his muscles, pleased with the results.

“Taran.”

Taran held still. The sound of his name on her lips could undo him. What a fool he’d been to ask such a thing of her. Slowly, he turned to see Moll hovering outside the aviary door, the wind playing with her skirts to smooth them provocatively over her curves. She held an earthen cup close to her breast, covering the top with the palm of her hand.

“I’ve brought your brew,” she said.

Wordlessly, he invited her inside the aviary with a wave of his hand.

The perfume of her hair teased his nostrils as she stepped close and handed up the cup. She waited until he’d downed the entire thing before squinting at the aviary walls. “Are you pleased with them?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis a wonder to see them finish an honest day’s work,” she murmured, clearly surprised herself. “They’ve been living by their wits since they could walk, but you’ll find none more stouthearted or loyal.” She hesitated and then confessed in a lower voice, “They only wished to keep us fed, but I fear they’ll meet a dreadful end if I cannot change their ways.”

“A year in the Highlands would set them to rights.” He doubted ‘twould even take that long. ‘Twas abundantly clear the lads were honorable and only a little misguided.

Moll gave a wistful sigh. “If only I could send them there, nay…go with them even. Mayhap, we could find work enough for us all.”

The thought of Moll cleaning chambers or scouring pots in a scullery turned his stomach. Nay, ‘twas not something he’d permit. She the kind of lass who belonged in a man’s bed—his.

If she still spoke, he didn’t hear. His gaze had locked on the swanlike curve of her neck and then down over her curves, accentuated by the shadows.

There was nothing in the world that could stop him now.

Powerless to resist her pull a moment longer, he caught her in his arms and with a groan, lowered his lips to hers.

Safe

Safe. She was safe. ‘Twas the first thought in Moll’s mind as Taran caught her close. Then, his lips brushed hers. There was no fear. No revulsion. No desire to escape. His touch was tender, warm, and so surprisingly soft.

After a long, lingering moment, his lips were gone.

Moll’s heart began to thud. Had she disappointed him? Before she could panic, his mouth returned. Again, ‘twas a brief kiss, so light a touch, yet somehow more powerful, more intimate than she’d ever imagined a kiss could be.

She sank against him and closed her eyes.

This time, when his lips returned, the aviary around her faded. There was nothing but his arms holding her against the hard planes of his chest and his palm cradling her cheek, his thumb ever so lightly tracing the line of her jaw.

His lips were soft yet demanding as he deepened the kiss, pulling her lower lip between his to graze it lightly betwixt his teeth. She shivered. ‘Twas an entirely different kind of kiss than she’d ever experienced before. Then, his tongue slid into her mouth. She tensed at the intrusion, fearing he would summon the demons of her past, but she’d scarcely thought it before the fear melted away.

With him, she wanted to feel. He tasted fresh, of strength, his tongue teasing and dancing over hers. Mayhap, ‘twasn’t a kiss at all? It couldn’t be. A warm tingle shot down the back of her neck, as a foreign heat kindled deep within.

As his tongue explored deeper, she leaned forward, for the first time moving her own tongue to tangle with his as slowly, his hand slid down her spine.